Set Aside
by hannibalsorbet
Summary: Will went solely to confront him, but ended up sitting for dinner instead. :: [Possible implied Hannigram] :: [Currently a One-Shot, may develop into more]


Will went solely to confront him, but ended up sitting for dinner instead.

As the plate was set out in front of him, the food delicately placed on the dish as though it was a decoration and not to be consumed, he breathed in the scent, knowing he'd have to eat if he was to see through this pretence he had adopted on arriving at his unofficial psychiatrist's home. He was annoyed at his own behaviour; annoyed that he had not carried out his plan the way he had imagined on his journey up here. What was he going to do, let Hannibal get away with everything he had done and everything that he would, no doubt, do in the future? It was wrong and he knew that it was, but when Hannibal had opened the door, his fingers automatically removed themselves from his pocket where the loaded gun was. The words in his mind, the confrontation, the accusations, all disappeared and suddenly, he had no idea what to say. That was when Hannibal had placed a hand on his shoulder and ushered him inside and asked him to give him the pleasure of joining him while he ate.

Hannibal sat in the seat opposite once he had finished pouring wine into their glasses. Wine which was the colour of fresh blood and made Will feel inappropriately light headed, reminding him of why he came here in the first place. Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper. He had been killing them and taking from them and, and _eating_ them - and had been apparently helping Will during their sessions, helping him keep his mind, helping him with the clues... and Will had been empathising the whole time with a killer who he had spoke to personally, had joined at dinner, and most importantly, had come to like and come to trust. So, why hadn't he been made a victim yet? Would he survive, or was his death just around the corner? What did Hannibal want from him? And if he found out, would he give it to him willingly?

"Will, is everything okay?"

Will looked up. His eyes had been shut. Hannibal was looking at him curiously, concern masking his face. Was he really concerned? Did he really care? Was that an act too?

"Er, yes, sorry. I'm fine, everything's fine."

Will watched as Hannibal smiled. He knew that it must be a fake smile, but it looked so genuine, sincere. He wanted to believe that the smile, at least, was true. But that led to other questions, such as why should he care if the smile was true or not? Why did he want Hannibal to smile at him and mean it? Will was obviously only a piece in his game. He was a form of entertainment and nothing more, and once he had finished entertaining, _he_ would be finished, just like his other victims. Mocked, cut into pieces and served on a plate.

"Eat, before your food goes cold."

Hannibal's voice was suddenly thick with torment, his words taunting Will. He knew that he had imagined it, that Hannibal wouldn't allow the true meaning of his words to seep through to the surface, but now, Will could hear it. Hannibal didn't have to say it that way, it was obvious, it was there. He wanted to watch Will eat, knowing the true ingredients while he, on the other hand, was oblivious. But he wasn't oblivious, not any more, and that only made things harder as the blade of his knife sank into the tender meat on his plate. He brought the fork up to his lips as calmly as possible, though his hand was visibly trembling. Its smell was intoxicating like never before. The dishes Hannibal had served had always let off a wonderful aroma, instantly causing his mouth to water and long for its taste. But now, he could practically detect the prominent fragrance of blood and flesh and fear and even the moment of absolute euphoria as death approached.

He took a moment to look up at Hannibal, his fork just by his mouth, and Hannibal was watching. Intently. Carefully. ...Suspiciously? Did he know that Will had found out? His dark eyes suggested so. Of course he knew. He knew everything. Surely, Hannibal knew the reason behind Will's supposedly fortuitous visit. He knew that, for some reason, Will had changed his mind and was now going along with it. Perhaps Hannibal even knew _why_ Will hadn't confronted him yet, and had no intention of doing so any time soon. Will didn't know, but Hannibal was his psychiatrist, after all.

The moment in which their eyes locked seemed to last a life time, but realistically, lasted only a second before Will looked away and somehow, with thorough determination and an empty mind, brought the fork closer to his mouth and cleared it of food. His stomach turned instantly, confirming its disgust. For a vivid moment, Will couldn't prevent himself from imagining the meat in his mouth looking how it did before Hannibal had prepared it - an actual, raw, body part. Bloody and fleshy, dirty and tortured. In his mouth, being chewed by his teeth and being swallowed, leaving his teeth, tongue and throat hot with blood. Convinced he was ready to throw up, Will reached for his wine glass with a shaking hand and took a long drink, allowing the alcoholic beverage to wash out his mouth and slip down his throat.

"How is it?" Hannibal asked, taking some in his own mouth and chewing. He did it so easily.

Will was uncertain how he should answer. If Hannibal _did_ know about Will's recent revelation, surely he was practically being handed power if Will remained silent, if Will pretended that he was enjoying his meal. But if he _didn't_ know and believed that Will remained unaware of his wrongdoings, he would find out simply through Will's response.

Sighing, he forced a smile. Perhaps he could pretend that he knew nothing. Perhaps Hannibal would believe his act. Perhaps he _could_ eventually forget all about it. "Delicious."

The evening continued in the same manner. Will ate, very slowly, until his plate was almost clear. After every mouthful, he sipped at his wine, hoping that, if the taste of the wine didn't wash away the taste of the food, its mind-numbing buzz would. He was paranoid, always had been, but Will was also certain that Hannibal had been watching him much more closely than ever before. Watching the way he sliced his food with his knife, the way his hands shook slightly as they rose to his mouth, the way he tried to swallow his food without chewing. It was like a silent interrogation, as if Will himself was the prisoner, the man in the wrong, when in reality, it should have been him conducting it.

They spoke, but not as much usual. Will remained fairly silent, allowing Hannibal to take control of the conversation, answering politely but only when necessary. A few times, Dr Lecter had asked if Will was okay, why he was unusually quiet and if anything was on his mind. Was he encouraging him to speak out? Or was he simply revelling in the fact that he knew Will wouldn't?

What would it take for Will to confront Hannibal, for him to go running to Jack? Another dead body, another dozen? Right now, he couldn't do it. He was holding onto something. It could have been because he had trusted Hannibal and didn't want to believe it was true. It could have been because Hannibal was a sort of friend, and someone who did show concern, but not too much to patronise him. Whatever it was, it was preventing him from doing what he knew was right. And that pissed him off.

"Thank you for joining me this evening, Will." They were standing by the door. "Before you leave, is there anything you wanted to ask or say?"

"Why do you ask, Dr Lecter?" Will spoke slowly, but he tried to keep his voice level and calm, tried to keep it non-accusatory.

"Because you turned up here, apparently with no aim." Hannibal smiled politely, almost innocently. It made Will want to reach for his gun and shoot. Not Hannibal, not himself. Just an urge to pull the trigger and hear the sound of a bullet being released.

He shrugged it off. "I just..." Another shrug. "I just came to see you."


End file.
